On the rooftop, there's human resistance soldier Barclay: red hair, icy skin, very severe, lovely and particularly harsh-looking. "Security's minimal." Anders is revealed, standing next to her, and they discuss the Centurion patrol. "So we go under him," Anders decides. "The storm drain leads directly to the garage underneath the café. There'll be dozens of skin jobs inside." "Skin jobs." I wondered when that would be showing up. You know those wire cork things on top of champagne or pretentious beer? Somebody twisted it into a turtle, you know how you do, and then into a unicorn, at this coffee shop I was hanging out at, and my friend Larry brought it over and put it on the table and when I picked it up to look at it, he screamed from behind me, "It's a pity she won't live!" This is a very funny man, but that's still like my favorite thing he ever did, off a long list. This is maybe not so interesting, except it contains: a café, "skin jobs," and a guy realizing that he's not at all what he thought he was. Thought he was human, turned out he was a robot. And that's the first half of this episode. The second half? The opposite happens.
Galactica sick bay, Helo's worried. The baby isn't breathing. A nurse puts her in a little glass chamber and prepares to take her to a makeshift NICU area: "Her lungs aren't fully developed. She needs oxygen support." The baby -- Hera, mother of the Gods, first among women -- cries aloud, signaling that she's alive, and Cottle gets all cranky: "There's your answer. Now you get the hell out of here. We have to stop the mother bleeding or she's not going to make it."
Six knocks on Sharon's door down in Caprica City -- Apartment 502 -- and the door opens. Horrific music is playing, like, a guy with a ponytail would think this is what the kids are listening to these days. Just dreadful. Not like a college band, but like the band that comes to play at your college. You know what I mean. "You here to kick me out?" Sharon asks Six roughly. Um, not until I heard your music, dude. Get on the floor. She's dressed like a pilot, scrubbly-looking tank and utility pants. She looks rockin' awesome, and she's using that deeper, starker Boomer voice -- the Mischa Barton one that made everybody think she couldn't act. Having spent so much time with the other Boomer now this season, I think the choices and differences and the intuition behind them is a lot easier to see, and swallow. Six totally takes in Sharon's entire outfit, kind of horrified, because it's just not up to the caliber of the I. Magnin earth tones everybody else is obsessed with. Boomer swings back into the apartment, the door hangs loose, Six grabs it and follows her in. Sharon's apartment is gorgeous. The actual front door's in the loft, right, so the apartment itself is down a stairwell along one wall, exposed cement, and the outer wall is glass. I would totally shoot Bill Adama for a sweet pad like that. I think I like it better than Kara's, even. "You're here to help me with my adjustment problems," Sharon guesses. "I could save you some time." She dumptrucks over and starts doing chinups on a bar, with a box under her feet, ignoring Six altogether. As the unbearable music plays, Six wanders around, checking out all the framed fake octagonal pictures.